{author's note: just in case you didn't read the last chapter (which is totally fine, i get that some people skip right over those things) this story in entirety takes place in somewhere around 2004, around the time/shortly after vol. 3 came out. thanks for reading! 💜}
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{tw: this chapter has mentions of drug use!}
"Grace, you okay? Hey, you alive in there?"
A quiet voice snapped Grace Hoskins out of a daze and she looked up dumbly, her eyes connected with a pair of clear blue ones a second later. Mick Thomson looked back at her with concern clear on his face and his hand on her shoulder. She wasn't sure when he'd put the hand there, but she was thankful for it. Suddenly, she wasn't sure she'd be able to sit up without it.
"I feel... bad, Micky," she told him, using a nickname she knew he hated. Usually, he would've scolded her against it. In that moment, though, he just nodded.
Dizziness felt like it was engulfing her and she felt sick, like she might either vomit or pass out at any moment. She couldn't focus on Mick anymore suddenly, and had to raise her hand to rest atop his on her shoulder to make sure he was still there before he spoke again.
"You look bad. What have you eaten today?" he asked her, and she thought hard about it.
"N-nothing," she admitted. He nodded again.
"And have you taken anything?" he asked, his tone telling her he already knew the answer. She nodded slowly. "What?"
"I d-don't know," she responded honestly. "I got s-some pills from a guy at a party last night and I took them a little while ago," she told him, and he nodded again.
"How many pills did you take, Grace?" he asked, and she shrugged.
"A lot," she said quietly, and before she even realized what was happening, Mick was picking her up. The movement made her even dizzier, and she closed her eyes and leaned into his broad chest as he carried her. She wasn't sure where he was taking her, wasn't even sure she knew where she currently was at all, but she felt safe within his arms.
"Grace! Don't you fucking fall asleep!" Mick's rough yell made her eyes snap open, annoyed at his disturbance of her peace. Suddenly, he wasn't the only voice nearby. She recognized Jim Root and Joey Jordison at once, both of them asking what was going on.
"What the fuck is going on with her?" Joey asked, his voice much more concerned and serious than it ever usually was.
"She OD'd, I think," Mick told him.
"Where are you taking her?" Jim chimed in, and Mick answered that immediately too.
"To the bathroom. I'm gonna make her puke."
"I d-didn't OD," she mumbled, her mouth feeling like it was full of marbles. "I d-d-d-didn't," she tried to defend, the word feeling like it got stuck in her throat. Her vision was getting more and more blurry, stars floating in front of her eyes and darkness feeling like it was closing in on her.
Without warning, Mick was moving her again. He put her on the floor, cold tile making her shiver in the short dress she was wearing.
"Hold her," his voice said, and someone's hands were on her, gently pulling her upwards. "Grace, you still with me?" he asked, and she did her best to nod and grunt some sort of affirmative response. It was getting harder and harder for her to formulate real thoughts, but she still vaguely knew what he was about to do.
"Are you sure we shouldn't just call an ambulance?" Jim's voice was hesitant, and close to her ears. He sounded scared and it made tears fill Grace'e half-open eyes. Fleetingly, she thought he must be the one holding her up.
"We will. We've gotta get the shit out of her stomach first, though. The quicker it's out the better off she'll be," Mick's voice responded. A second that felt gruelingly long passed as Grace felt herself going more limp by the second in Jim's grasp. He adjusted, wrapping one arm firmly around her waist to try and keep her as upright as he could. His other hand wrapped itself around her hair, pulling it back and out of the way.
"Grace, I'm gonna make you puke, okay?" Mick's voice was loud and right in front of her face suddenly. She groaned quietly, which he seemed to take as agreement.
It was absolutely excruciating. Mick wasn't gentle about it, which Grace couldn't quite blame him for. She was sure he hadn't woken up that morning expecting to have to stick his finger down someone's throat. Even though she was still on the very edge of consciousness, she could feel every second of the burn in her throat and then the empty and acidic feeling of her stomach afterwards.
After her stomach had nothing left to purge, Jim let himself fall backwards into a sitting position and took her with him, letting her lean heavily on him and wrapping his arms around her even though she could already smell the reek of vomit on herself.
"Stay with me, Grace. C'mon, you're doing so good, don't bail on me now," Jim murmured quietly as he held her, stroking her hair gently. "Stay with me."
"J-J-Jamie," she mumbled, using another nickname that she knew usually got her yelled at for using. He didn't say anything about his either, just held her tightly.
"I'm here. I'm right here. Don't fall asleep, okay, Grace? Just stay awake with me," he encouraged her, and she coughed hard, trying her best to nod.
"T-talk to me. Tell me a s-story," she managed in a rough whisper, and he did. He launched into some story about an encounter he'd recently had at a bar that she couldn't quite focus on, but the steady sound of his voice gave her something to hold onto, keeping her just engaged enough to latch onto some form of consciousness.
